


A Beautiful Reason to Fight

by hookedontaronfics



Category: British Actor RPF, Taron Egerton Fandom
Genre: Cancer Arc, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, medical drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 09:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hookedontaronfics/pseuds/hookedontaronfics
Summary: A/N: This is a new series that follows OC character Kinsey McCormick’s battle with cancer, and how Taron helps carry her through it. It’s a difficult subject to write about, so if you don’t want to read any kind of medical drama, this story is not for you. I enjoy writing stories that are real and gritty and human. I will never hide away from the difficult things we experience, and I feel there is something to be said for testing the strength of a character through the adversity they face. I have been touched by cancer in my own life and know many of you have been as well, whether it’s a friend or co-worker or loved one, or even you yourself. So I hope that the light, happy moments between the difficult ones will make this story compelling, and that you’ll root for a happy ending too. X





	A Beautiful Reason to Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Slight cursing, medical drama (trigger warning)

In typical me fashion, I was already running late for an important appointment. I’d snoozed my alarm far too many times, and I’d just gotten out of the shower and toweled off when my phone chimed. 

<Hey, I’m here!>

I accidentally knocked my hand into the corner of my dresser in my haste to pick up my phone. “Ouch!” I screeched, clutching my hand to my chest for a moment and then nearly tripping over a discarded pair of jeans on the bedroom floor, which I grabbed and hopped slightly to pull on, struggling to clasp the button. I’m not sure when this pair had gotten too small for me, but I should probably lay off the late-night takeout runs, I thought ruefully.

<Be right down!> I texted back quickly when I regained the use of my hand. I pulled my wet hair into a quick bun and then rescued a day-old shirt from the corner chair. I gave it a quick sniff test before pulling it on over my bra. I didn’t have time for makeup but it wasn’t the first time my boyfriend had seen me that way. Believe me, after two years together there wasn’t much that could surprise him.

I flung my purse over my shoulder and managed to make it out of my apartment, locking the door behind me before pounding my way down the three flights of stairs and fairly bursting out of the building into the early morning sunshine. I spied my boyfriend’s car and ran across the dewy grass, not caring that it was soaking the canvas of my sneakers. I yanked open the car door and flopped into the seat, making my boyfriend chuckle.

“Glad you could make it,” he teased me good-naturedly, handing me a coffee that I graciously accepted.

“I’m an eternal mess. You know this, Taron,” I giggled slightly as he leaned in to steal a quick kiss. I could taste the sugary sweetness of his hazelnut latte - two pumps of syrup - lingering on his lips.

“I know it and I love it,” he said, his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “So, are you ready for today?” he asked casually as I took a long sip of my coffee.

“I don’t know. I feel like I might puke,” I admitted, feeling a bit of a squeeze in my chest and unsure if it was only from nerves or one of the symptoms I’d started experiencing.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, squeezing my knee reassuringly. “Having an answer will be better than the unknown,” he said gently.

“I know, I’m just… nervous as hell. Everything in my life feels like it depends on these results.”

“Then we should get to it,” he smiled at me, though I could detect the anxiety and fear in his eyes that I’m sure was reflected in my own. He put the car in gear and we pulled out onto the streets of London. I tried my hardest to distract myself with the music on the radio, scarfing a breakfast sandwich that he’d been thoughtful enough to buy for me, as I’d had no time to grab anything to eat, and trying to pretend like this was just another city jaunt for us and not the life-altering appointment it would turn out to be.

After checking in, we waited in the lobby, my leg bouncing uncontrollably with the anxiety I was feeling. To his credit, Taron did his best to keep me laughing and smiling, but the wait and anticipation was killing me slowly.

“Kinsey McCormick!” the nurse called, and I looked to Taron and let out a loud sigh.

“This is it,” I said, and he threaded his fingers through mine, determined to not let me feel alone. We were shown to a room and made to wait a little bit longer, making even more small talk until my doctor finally entered the room.

“Kinsey, how are you feeling?” he asked kindly, also shaking Taron’s hand as well.

“Anxious. Nervous. Still alive, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said, a bit cheekily. I couldn’t help it; my sarcastic side came out when I was feeling fearful and cornered.

“Well, I’ll get right down to brass tacks for you then. The results of your scan came back showing a malignant mass in your lymph nodes in the chest area. The biopsy came back positive for stage II T-cell lymphoblastic lymphoma, which is a rare and fast-growing but treatable form of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. We’ll have to do more tests to see if it’s in your bone marrow, but the prognosis is currently good with aggressive treatment.”

“Cancer. I have cancer,” I said, barely able to put enough force behind the words to make them audible. I felt the room closing in on me, and it was difficult to breathe. I felt myself get light-headed but Taron was saying my name and stroking my face sweetly and trying to bring my back down to earth.

“Just breathe, just focus on that. It’s going to be okay,” he said while the doctor waited patiently, likely having been through many of these reactions over time.

“How good is good?” I finally managed to ask, squeezing Taron’s hand so hard it was probably hurting him, but he didn’t even flinch.

“93 percent for complete remission, at this point. I promise we’re going to help you fight this every step of the way. I’ve got a referral to an oncologist already set up for you. It’s not going to be easy, by any stretch, but there’s going to be a long, beautiful life for you ahead.” He was trying to be reassuring, but I couldn’t stop repeating  _ I have cancer  _ over and over in my mind.

Of course the diagnosis made sense of the symptoms I’d been experiencing, the night sweats and high fevers for no reason, the chest pain and shortness of breath doing simple things. I’d gone through plenty of other tests to try and figure out why someone so young was experiencing these things. The most uncomfortable had been the heart cath but my heart had come back completely normal. I was fit and in shape so why stairs had become a challenge had vexed my doctors for weeks. So yes, we had an answer, but that answer scared me beyond words I could express.

I was so grateful Taron had insisted on going with me to this appointment; I’m not sure I could focus enough to hear half of what the doctor was explaining, but Taron was listening intently. I would never be able to fully explain how grateful I was to have him in my life, and now in this battle ahead of me. I was also angry at my body for betraying me; I’d eaten the kale and went to the gym 4 times a week and did everything I could to take care of it and still it had grown a  _ malignant mass _ . That phrase sent shivers racing through me and I felt the acid rising in my throat. I swallowed hard, not wanting to revisit my breakfast.

“It’s not a death sentence and I don’t want to treat your case that way,” I clued in finally to what my doctor was saying. “There will always be a risk of that with cancer, but modern medicine has come a long way in its treatment options, and new ones are being tested and approved every day. I know this is a difficult diagnosis to hear and to process, of course, and there will be many questions to come, but you will have a team whose job it is to keep you alive and they’ll stop at nothing to get you well again.”

“Right, thanks. I’m not exactly feeling the confidence at the moment, but I appreciate the honesty,” I said sarcastically, feeling Taron squeezing my hand in support again.

“I’ll have you schedule your follow-up appointment on the way out and Kinsey, stay away from Google. It will only serve to make you freak out. The best thing to do is just to talk to your oncologist, alright?” he said, anticipating the first thing I planned on doing as soon as I got out of the office. I had never heard of lymphoblastic lymphoma and I wanted to know the horror I would be dealing with ahead of time, but Taron seemed to take that advice to heart.

Once I’d made my appointment for the following week and we’d stepped back out into the day, he took both of my hands in his and pulled me in to him sweetly. “Hey, it’s Friday, it’s beautiful out, and you don’t have to work for once. Why don’t we go walk around the Strand? Get your mind off of this because stewing over it won’t solve it,” he suggested. I could only nod my head in agreement, not trusting my voice. The day was indeed beautiful, the sun full out and the temperature warm, but there was now a chill deep in my bones, and a tumor living in my chest.

“The best way to not let this cancer win is to keep living your life to the fullest,” he said softly. “And I’m going to be here reminding you to do that every minute of every day. We aren’t going to let this win, okay?” he said, brushing my hair back from my face sweetly.

“Okay,” I agreed, my eyes watering slightly. He gently brushed the tears from my cheeks with his thumb, just giving me the moment, aware of how much this news had just shaken me to the core. And there would be many more tears down the road, too, but I didn’t want to ruin this day I had with Taron either. Often we had stolen minutes during breaks at work, lunches or dinners together, falling sleep during late-night movies on the couch. But today was fully ours, and I wanted to make the most of it.

“Alright,” I said, taking a deep, shaky breath and wincing slightly against the pinprick of pain in my chest. That had been happening more and more often and now I was grateful I hadn’t ignored the discomfort. I didn’t know much about cancer, but I knew the first two stages meant we’d caught it early; it meant my chances of surviving were much greater and I had to hold onto that positive outlook.

Taron drove us across the city, having to circle a few times to find parking, but he knew I always loved popping in the little shops along the Strand and being able to lose myself amongst the tourists did lift my spirits a little bit. We walked hand in hand, browsing through the wares at the Covent Garden antique market, TopShop, Primark, Carnaby Street, the high-end Liberty department store, and even poking about in Lambert’s souvenir shop. Taron kept trying on kitschy Union Jack items and making me laugh, as he insisted that I take photos and I kept trying to pretend he wasn’t actually mine. Being able to laugh again somehow broke through some of the heaviness of the day.

We stopped at the Battersea Pie shop and managed to snag a spot at one of the busy counters, digging into our meat pies with gusto.

“We’re going to kick this cancer’s ass,” Taron smiled at me, leaning in for a kiss but I leaned away.

“Gross, I don’t want your meat-pie breath!” I teased him, so he reached over and tickled me in the ribcage instead because he knew I couldn’t stand it. “Taaaaron!” I squealed, laughing and slapping his hand away. “You’re such a little arse.”

“My arse is actually quite big, thanks,” he said with a wink, making me giggle. I set my chin in my hand and gazed at him. “What?” he grinned.

“Nothing. Just being reminded how much I absolutely love you.”

“The feeling is mutual, my love,” he smiled. “We have so far gotten through 100 percent of our worst days because we have each other. And I believe in that. This is just another one of those. And I know that this is going to get worse for you before it gets better, but I’m not going to let you go a day without knowing how loved and supported you are.”

“So you’ll love me even when I lose my hair and go bald?” I asked, trying to make a joke that felt flat even to me.

“I’ll go bald with you. I’ll take you wig shopping. None of that scares me. You’ll still be beautiful. That doesn’t define who you are to me,” he said, picking up my hand in his and kissing my fingers and making my heart soar. “I know your soul, your spirit, your heart, and cancer can’t take that away from you.”

“I’m scared that it might. That I’ll become unrecognizable even to myself,” I said quietly.

“I’m not going to believe that until I see it happen. Maybe things will get a bit shit for a while, but you’re a warrior. And I won’t let this break you, alright?” he said, fiercely determined to see me through. We sat like that in silence for a moment, lost to our own thoughts and emotions, before Taron suggested we keep moving along. We ended up buying a bubble waffle to share and retiring to the Victoria Embankment Gardens, one of my favorite places in the city.

The lunch rush was over so we were able to find a bench to sit on, which was a good thing because I was already feeling worn out. We took turns tearing off pieces of the waffle and scooping at the ice cream nestled inside, enjoying the treat and watching everyone else going about their business, having a jog or just meandering along the walk. There was a slight breeze off the Thames and it just felt quite nice to be there among the flowers and memorials with the one person in the world I wanted to spend all of my days with.

Of course between Taron’s acting gigs and my own full-time job and schooling, sometimes we had to spend time apart, but that’s what the internet and video chat was for. It certainly made the distance feel like less of a barrier and we were really happy. I could feel that as I leaned against Taron, his arm wrapped lightly around me, his chin resting on the top of my head. We didn’t even need words to know how the other was feeling. Of course I was feeling my world had gone off-kilter a bit, but Taron kept me grounded as well.

Because of my obviously waning energy, we decided just to go back to my apartment for the evening, where we could cook dinner and laze about watching some of our favorite shows together. One of those shows was “Million Little Things,” and the particular episode we were picking up with included quite a bit about Maggie’s journey with cancer. And I hate to admit it but I just lost it. I was crying so hard Taron had to pause the show and pulled me into him, letting me blubber all over his shirt.

“I can’t do this, I can’t,” I stuttered through my sobs.

“Yes you can, Kins. You have to,” he said patiently, staying calm while I broke apart, all of my fears and anger pouring out of me. He held me tightly while I trembled in his arms, stroking my hair and reassuring me as much as it was possible to do. This new reality was terrible and a part of me wished I could go back a day and freeze it there forever, the day before my entire world had tilted, started sliding toward oblivion. My future dreams, my hopes of having a family, of starting an amazing career, they were now clinging precariously to the edge. Cancer could instantly wipe those hopes out.

It took a while for me to calm down, but eventually I had cried myself out. “I’m sorry,” I managed after a bit, but Taron just shook his head.

“No need to be sorry to me. You needed that,” he said, and I saw him hastily wipe at his own eyes, which were a bit red.

“Oh Taron,” I said sweetly as he looked at me, trying to blink away his lingering tears as well.

“I love you so much, you know,” he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I could never stand to lose you. I’d lose myself, I think,” he said, his vulnerability tearing right through me.

“I love you too. You’re not going to lose me if I have anything to say about that. And we have plenty to say, like fuck this cancer,” I said, making him chuckle despite himself.

“You’re right, it can fuck right off,” he agreed, tilting my chin up and kissing me, our fears and worries still lingering between us but also so much love.

“We should finish our episode,” I said after we broke apart.

“You sure?” he asked gently.

“Yeah, I’m good. I can be like Maggie. She’s indomitable,” I smiled at that.

“Okay then. Be like Maggie and her badass pink wig,” he grinned, nuzzling sweetly into my neck.

We turned the show back on and managed to make it through without any further breakdowns, but then decided to call it a night. I was absolutely knackered and had an early work shift the next morning, and I wasn’t looking forward to having to tell my boss about my diagnosis. I wasn’t sure how or when to reveal it to my co-workers either; I assumed at some point I would have to take leave from work. Too many thoughts were swirling through my brain as we got ready for bed. We didn’t live together, but two years into our relationship and Taron had his own toothbrush at my place, and some of his clothes had just migrated over, and vice versa. We spent plenty of time apart but occasionally we did spend the night; we had that level of comfort with each other now.

I was more than relieved to crawl into bed with him, our foreheads resting against each other’s for a moment as we gazed at each other. “One day at a time, Kinsey. We’ll beat this together,” he said, his sweet eyes searching my own tired ones.

“And when we’re on the other side of this?” I asked softly, running my fingers over the slight stubble along his jaw.

“Then I intend to make this a forever,” he said sweetly, making my heart beat faster. It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned it; when you’ve been together for a couple of years, the idea of marriage gets brought up. Of course you want to know that your relationship might move toward that eventuality even if both of you aren’t ready for it yet. But to hear him say it now, it gave me a beautiful reason to fight. I wanted that future he was offering me.

“You are my happily ever after, Taron. I’m so lucky to have you,” I said, as he kissed the tip of my nose and made me giggle slightly.

“It’s the other way around. I’m the luckiest bloke to have you,” he grinned, capturing my lips in more sweet kisses, until we both needed air. I tucked my head in against his chest and let him snuggle me in, pulling the blankets around us tightly, and in that cocoon we felt safe together. I slipped off to sleep, if not peacefully, at least feeling like I could face each day as long as I had Taron.

******

_ June 14, 2017 _

_ Dearest diary: _

_ My name is Kinsey. _

_ I am 25 years old and a total Virgo. I am earning my Master’s degree in Art History and Visual Culture from Richmond University in hopes of being a collections curator for a museum some day. I work full-time for a bookstore and spend time volunteering for a children’s cheer camp in the summers. I love swimming, horseback riding, long walks in the park [cliche but true!] and collaging.  _

_ I have the most loving boyfriend a girl could ever ask for, and I can’t tell you how absolutely lucky I am to have him in my life. We’ve been together for two years already, and he makes me ridiculously happy. Sometimes it is challenging to find time to hang out together around his work as an actor, but when we do have time we focus solely on each other. I adore everything about him. _

_ I also have cancer.  _

_ Specifically, I have T-cell lymphoblastic lymphoma. And it’s trying to kill me. _

_ I felt the need to tell you all of these things because I want you to know that I am more than my diagnosis. I am more than the treatments I will be going through. I am more than the bad days that will threaten to overwhelm me and make me want to give up. I am determined to defeat the statistics. _

_ It has been one week since the doctor came back with the news. And I am still trying to come to grips with this new reality. Of course you hear all of the stories of the horrible side effects of chemotherapy; the exhaustion and nausea and losing your hair. The amount of information you suddenly have to deal with is overwhelming. I now have an entire “care team” meant to keep me alive. It makes me feel like a diva sometimes, but I also know there might be a time I’m too sick to wipe my own ass and I’ll need those people around me. And that reality is sobering. _

_ I’m questioning basically everything at the moment; there are so many unknowns. So many more tests to figure out how far the cancer has invaded my body before we can even figure out a treatment plan. I know a part of that, of course, will be the multiple rounds of chemo to burn the cancer away, enough to make my head spin. I know it will make me sick, and I don’t want to be sick, but my only other choice is death, and I’m too damn young and I have too damn much to look forward to to choose that as an option. _

_ So here I am, trying to write down the highs and the lows of this journey, to keep a record so to speak. My cancer therapist (there’s such a thing) said it would be a good idea, to keep me from feeling hopeless, so I’ll do anything they tell me to do if it means making me healthy again. If it means winning this battle. Even keeping this diary. _

_ Because I’m determined to have a future with Taron, to give him babies and to make him ridiculously happy for the rest of our days. I can’t do that if I’m no longer a part of this earth. So I’ll survive the sick days, fight through the hopeless days, wear my bald head with pride if it means I get that future with him. Cancer can’t and won’t defeat me, not this time, not ever. _


End file.
